Вершы:
Farmer Boys High To Die

a quarter of some sheeeiit, I'm the Pookey of the backyard All colors and all types like a junkyard High young boy with high young ways 'Cuz I connect three blunts and be high

and inclined to get lyrical Checkin' for residuals, rhymin' be the ritual Ill individual, bad habitat, watch my voice battle cats While I'm spittin' battle raps On the high

the bubble head boys To push their flags into powdered soils and cry No second placers No smart looking geese in bonnets Dance with pigs in high button trousers No milk pail for the farmer

the bookkeeper, not for the banker The margin's thin on treatin' large animals unless it's a purebred or, more understandable, a racehorse of some kind You see son, city folks pay a high

hills are very high And so is the hill of Howth sir But there's a hill much higher still Much higher than them both sir On top of this high hill

-chi Threesome, got your boy Little Freaky So high, everything lookin 3D Orgys to the weewee, the sleepy But I'm just sayin though, Wiggy, Wiggy Outsmart the piggy Them Dopehouse boys

she don't leave the farm herself to get paid Candice on twaps cause she love the ball Thought she had the nizzle on the dresses at the mall Buyin, high

the heart of medina About to set off something more deep than a misdemeanor Under the subway, waiting for the train to make noise So I can blast a nigga and his boys

block It don't stop, and it be quick to give your pistol a cock We got bars and stripes, boy and sprites Polite on mics the type of cats that keep boys